Diving Into the Wreck

I am having to do this here alone. No one to tell me when the ocean will begin. I came to explore the wreck. The words are purposes. The words are maps. I came to see the damage that was done and the treasures that prevail, the drowned face always staring toward the sun. This is the place and I am here, the mermaid whose dark hair streams black, carrying a knife, a camera, a book of myths in which our names do not appear. -Adrienne Rich, Diving Into the Wreck.

Sunday, February 15, 2015

Your roads --the curves of women linked together, uncovered we discovered beautiful : hipped and bedrocked-- jurassic slabs of slate. Your cabin's music playing, and fire when we entered, entered where she said yes, I slipped old stones on her finger. Where bears still sleeping, where still illegal for us to marry, you should know you were apart of the story: story where two women become lovers again and again, in the woods, on a hill, in a state where this kind of love is dangerous, not unlike all love. Where we ate at the Old Mill, meat covered in stone ground corn and fried, we tasted you and left the morning before the snow and ice. We slept on the finest pillows, swallowed from our tongues wine and juice and with dog as witness, made a promise to each other. We drifted through dark chambers of blue, watched jellyfish through glass umbrella into red, and sharks glided over head. We drove through smoky mountains--their blue aura, their snowy tops and slippery rocks where the cold bit our necks for each photo-op. We were high, we were in clouds, in love and looking out at the curve of the world.

Thursday, February 5, 2015

Holy sac
of bone and blood, beats like a hip-hop song
in the attic: I am the lyric
carried down through the vents, repeating itself over and over. Not what it used to be, having seen twice the scenes, expanded twice the times in breath and pain,
I find it each morning
with surprise--my body, holy as stone, softens with time: becomes more and more cave like.
Let's make a place of my body:
here is home for my lover to write
on walls. I'm talking carving, I'm talking home for
her to lay her heavy, heavy everything and dissolve:
swaddled. Skin-- scarred no matter, color no matter
keeps my insides in, holds me in shape of a woman ready
to love the world and hate it too, equipped with eyes, tongue let's
meet there lover and make her dance. Make her naked, make
eyes rattle, bones bend. Let's fold and crinkle her in all the places
and get her wet. My body is a place waiting for you to enter, Lover,
turn on lights and music when you come, for it grows so quiet without you.